


A thing of shreds and patches

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Brick (2005)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-12
Updated: 2006-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-25 03:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1629887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the kind of news they send in telegrams. Post-movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A thing of shreds and patches

**Author's Note:**

> The song quoted is the second part of the one Laura sings at the Halloween-in-January party. You can hear her sing the whole thing on the deleted scenes of the Brick DVD if you're so inclined. The song itself is from 'The Mikado' by Gilbert and Sullivan. The title is taken from another Mikado song, 'A Wand'ring Minstrel I.'   
>  Lines, situations, and inspiration pulled from 'The Big Sleep,' 'Kiss Kiss Bang Bang,' 'Strangers on a Train,' 'Double Indemnity,' 'Laura,' 'Lucky Number Slevin,' and probably at least one other movie I forgot to mention. The illustrated novella and the screen play were also very helpful in fleshing out the characters. They're both available online at the official Brick site.   
> Beta'd by the lovely hkath, who was a doll for agreeing to beta for me. Thanks also to Em, who kicked my butt and/or held my hand throughout this whole thing, depending on the situation.
> 
> Written for HotelMontana

 

 

 **I.  
Observe his flame,  
That placid dame,  
The moon's Celestial Highness; **  
~  
This is what everyone knows:

Kara and Brendan hooked up in the beginning of freshman year and made a good run of things until fourth quarter. They worked their way up quick because Brendan knew which devils to deal with and Kara knew how to deal. They were both smalltime dealers - mostly for friends, mostly at parties - but there was good money, good product, good times. He had the smarts and she had the charm and they were both good-looking enough for things to go their way. At least until Kara got greedy or Brendan got demanding, depending upon what story you believed, but everybody knew the break-up was nasty, even though no one was around for the actual event, just the aftershocks. Kara kept her spot near the top of the tower, clawing her way up by inches whenever she saw the chance. Brendan ducked back into the masses until Emily, until the mess with Laura and Tug and the Pin made sure he couldn't hide out anymore.

This is what nobody knows:

They don't know Brendan barely ever saw Kara in the daytime, that they met in the shadows of the backstage and the dressing rooms, between red curtains and white paint. They don't know what it was like living from rehearsal to rehearsal and cigarette to cigarette, from one burst of applause to the next. They don't know the perfect fit of Kara's hipbones in Brendan's hands, the scent that washed over Brendan when his face was buried in her hair. They don't know the exact moment Brendan fell in love with Kara - that the winter musical that year was _Guys and Dolls_ , and Kara was Adelaide, and when she sang and danced to `Bushel and a Peck' that was when he knew.

They didn't know Brendan wasn't really upper crust. Not because he couldn't get there - God knows he had enough smarts to run rings around most of them - but because he didn't have the stomach for the scene, for all the bullshit that sprang from it. And he was all right with that, all right with selling where he wanted to and scraping where he had to, getting his fingers into the cracks of the upper crust and splitting it open for kicks. They thought he fit in because he tailed after Kara.

They don't know it wasn't just a break-up but a betrayal, that Kara sold Brendan out not even for thirty goddamn pieces of silver but to get two steps closer to the tower. What it came down to with Kara was ambition. When push came to shove Brendan was going to lose every time. He knew that. He'd always know that. He'd just been foolish enough to hope it would never get there. To _believe_ it would never come to that.

They don't know anything. That's how Brendan gets by - telling himself that they don't know, they couldn't possibly know, that he can't see it in their faces every time they look at him.

Nobody knows whether she loved him. Not even Brendan.

  
  
 **II.  
There's not a trace   
Upon her face   
Of diffidence or shyness: **   
~   
It started on an early March morning. Cold - at least as cold as California got. Brendan was walking past the administrative offices, trying to get to homeroom on time. There were only a few months until graduation and he'd been putting in his hours, keeping his head down and his nose clean. He was halfway gone when Trueman's secretary tried to snag him with a sharp "Mr. Frye!"  
  
Brendan knew if he kept walking she'd just send the message down to homeroom, and he didn't want to deal with an irritated menopausal woman this early in the morning. He'd had enough luck avoiding his mother.  
  
"Morning, Mrs. P." He could never remember her name. Peppin, or Phillips maybe. Something suitably masculine. "Trueman wants to see me again?"  
  
"First thing. Head straight in."  
  
Didn't even have to sit in the uncomfortable plastic chairs. That was a good sign. Trueman's usual M.O. was leaving someone to sweat for a bit before calling him in. No wait meant no bullshit, and Brendan was all for that.  
  
Trueman was all ready sitting behind his desk, looking as vaguely ominous and self-important as usual. Brendan sat down without being asked and stuck out his legs.  
  
"Mr. Frye."  
  
"Mr. Trueman."  
  
Moments ticked by. Brendan shifted uneasily.  
  
"Look, this isn't where you try to pull me onto your team again, is it? `Cause I'm due in homeroom in about two and a half, and if I'm late again, Mr. Beckett's hanging me out to dry."  
  
Trueman frowned briefly. "This isn't about teams, I'm afraid. I received some news late yesterday afternoon that I thought I should pass along to you."  
  
"News." Brendan could handle news. News meant something from the bulls that Trueman wants the dirt on, dirt Brendan was probably ready and willing to give up if the bulls are involved. "What kind of news?"  
  
"The kind they normally send in telegrams." Trueman tapped his hands on the desk. "Jerr died yesterday, at San Clemente Juvenile Correctional Facility."  
  
Brendan blinked.  
  
Trueman looked at him with something that might have been pity. "Certain events aside, I know the two of you were close. I felt you should hear it from me rather than the grapevine."  
  
"Oh. I... see."  
  
Administrators. They never fail to surprise him. They spend so much time hiding behind ties and desks and nameplates that Brendan forgets they're people too.   
  
"How'd it happen?" Brendan asked finally.  
  
"On-scene says he was beaten to death. Blood loss. The coroner's report won't be out until tomorrow, and I assume I can trust you not to pass this around."  
  
Brendan stood. Beaten to death. Nasty. He shuddered.   
  
"Shit. Jerr, really?"  
  
"Really." Trueman started to step out from behind his desk, hesitant. "Are you going to need a pass? I can send you home."  
  
"No, I'm fine." The first bell rang out overhead. "Maybe a pass to homeroom."  
  
~  
  
Brendan found Brain in his usual spot outside the science center.  
  
"Brain."  
  
"Brendan, hey. What's the story?"  
  
"Remains to be seen. Any news out you think I might be interested in?"  
  
Brain barely glanced up from his Rubik's cube. "Haven't heard anything unusual. I know the look on your face though. Just like a dog that's spotted a bone. What've you got?"  
  
"Jerr's dead."  
  
"I'd say that'll do it. How?"  
  
"Beaten to death, or at least that's what Trueman's telling me. He called me in first thing this morning."  
  
"Not exactly the best way to go," Brain mused, stuffing the puzzle back into his pocket. Better ones to work on now. "They think you did it?"  
  
"No. They're grabbing at straws and I'm the closest one. Trueman was looking for a reaction but he wasn't expecting one. I should count on a visit from the bulls either way."  
  
"Want me to poke around for an alibi?"  
  
"Wouldn't want to have one too close at hand. Do me a favor and just keep this under wraps. Tell me when the masses get a hold of it."  
  
"Yeah, sure."  
  
Brendan squared his shoulders. "I've gotta jet. I've got some shaking up to do."  
  
"You're not going to leave it to the bulls?  
  
"I'll let them do their part. There's plenty of questions I can ask on my own."  
  
"Brendan," Brain pushed his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose, clearly uncomfortable. "You know this isn't a good idea."  
  
After the last time, after Em and the Pin and Laura and the Brick. Brendan knew what Brain meant. He knew what Brain wanted to say. Brendan was guilty by association these days, guilty because people are sure you can't hang around that much filth without getting a little dirty yourself.   
  
"Yeah, I know. I know." There was a picture of Emily in Brendan's head, the curve of her body in the water, hair floating out behind her. He shook his head to dislodge it. "It's not about that, Brain. It's not about whether it's good, or smart. When someone you worked with dies, you're supposed to give a damn. You're supposed to do something about it. It doesn't make any difference what you thought of them, or what you did to each other. I owe it. Not because I'm responsible, not because it's my fault, but because he was my partner. _That's_ why I've got to do this, Brain. Because I should."  
  
Brendan doesn't expect Brain to understand. He probably thought that Brendan hated Jerr just like everyone else. But Brendan didn't hate him. Jerr was a good egg - didn't squawk on Brendan even when Brendan sang on him. If it hadn't been for Em they might've been in business a long time. But Jerr wasn't going to be good for Em, and Brendan had to get him out of the way.   
  
Not that it mattered in the long run. Emily left him, and Brendan fucked himself over. Since he sold Jerr out he's got no in, got no cred. Not with anyone. And normally that wouldn't bother him - wouldn't set him back even a _step_ \- but the rub of it is that he needs Brain to trust him if this is going to go much further.  
  
Brendan sat on the edge of the embankment, his hands clenched in his pockets.  
  
"Where do we start?" Brain said a minute later, and pulled the Rubik's cube back out of his pocket.  
  
Something loosened in Brendan's gut and retightened in his throat, and it was a moment before he could speak. "You just keep your eyes and ears open, especially around Jerr's old crew. See if they're doing anything different from the daily grind. I'm going to talk to Kara."  
  
"Kara? What does she have to do with it?"  
  
"Maybe nothing. But if something's gone down, Kara's at least caught wind of it, and I might be able to shake something out of her."  
  
"You know where to find me." 

  
  
**III.  
She borrows light   
That, through the night,   
Mankind may all acclaim her! **   
~   
Brendan walked slowly into the drama building, stopping in the entrance until his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. There was a dancer tapping in the corner, and a couple rehearsing - or maybe fighting - on the front corner of the stage. Kara wasn't anywhere Brendan could see.  
  
The dressing room then. Brendan forced his way through the mountains of costumes and props, grimacing at the two pups lounging outside Kara's room.   
  
Pathetic.  
  
"Kara."  
  
"Brendan." Kara twirled around at the sound of the opening door, delighted. She was dressed as a flapper this time - short black dress, long strand of pearls. "Here for the show?"  
  
"No." Brendan threw himself into a nearby chair. "Just wondering what interesting tidbits you'd heard going around lately."  
  
Kara looked at him a moment before swiveling around in her chair. "It's a little early for gossip, don't you think? I've barely decided whose turn it is to get stabbed in the back today."  
  
"I see. So whose turn is it?"  
  
"Lindsey's," Kara said flippantly, riffling through her make-up box "She's been uppity ever since she landed the second lead."  
  
"Time to cut her down to size, huh?"  
  
"Someone has to do it."  
  
The lines in the corners of Brendan's mouth tightened. "You're vicious."  
  
"It's part of my charm."  
  
"Is that what they're calling it?"  
  
Kara's shrug was a study in unconcerned elegance.   
  
"Trust me, it's never too early for something this hot. If you're interested."  
  
"While I love a little intrigue in the morning..." Kara made a little noise in the back of her throat and set down her black eye pencil. "We're not exactly in the habit of doing each other favors anymore, are we? Scratching each others backs?" She turned all the way around in her chair and stared at Brendan with noticeably cooler eyes. "You came here to tell me something, Brendan. Don't waste my time."  
  
"Jerr's dead."  
  
Kara paused slightly before picking her eye pencil back up, lips twisted slightly. "I'd congratulate you, but I know you don't have the balls to do it."   
  
"And you do?"  
  
"Sweetie, I've got the balls to do anything. But I didn't kill Jerr."  
  
Brendan leaned back in his chair. "You know, I don't quite believe you."  
  
"I could tell you two plus two is four and you wouldn't quite believe me. Mm. I remember the days I could have told you the moon was made of green cheese."  
  
"Certainly squandered those. A guy never has a good reason to trust the girl who broke his heart."  
  
"And a girl never has a good reason to trust the guy who broke her mirror."  
  
Brendan's smile was mocking. "Oh, right, that makes us square."  
  
"Let's not forget when you threw me naked out of my own dressing room."  
  
"Still miffed about that?"  
  
"Just playing a game, Brendan. Girl's gotta make a living."  
  
"Most of us try to come by it honestly."  
  
Kara smiled sweetly. "Like you and Jerr?"  
  
Brendan stood. "As fun as our little chat has been, I've got other things to do."  
  
He took perverse pleasure in growling at Kara's lapdogs on the way out.  
  
~  
  
The San Clemente Juvenile Correctional Facility was a minimum security facility for small-time offenders - minor drug dealing, drug possession, breaking and entering, boosting cars; basically anything that wasn't violent or gang related. Kids did their time, left with sealed records, and generally did it all over again.   
  
Jerr'd been about halfway through a twenty-month sentence when he'd died. That was long enough to figure out how things worked and get some security, and definitely long enough to make some enemies. Brendan didn't know what the lay was in juvie, but he'd asked around. Turned out Jerr had been sharing his cell with the same guy for over seven months. That was long enough for the cellmate to know what was going on.   
  
Jerr's cellmate was a guy named Chook Chutney. He was tall and solid-looking, with a strange accent - New England clipped consonants with stretched Midwestern vowels - and a brawler's arms. The first thing Chutney did when he entered the room was cross those arms, scowl, and ask who the hell Brendan was. He reminded Brendan of Tug, and he was glad there was a sheet of glass and wire between them.  
  
"I'm an old friend of Jerr's," Brendan said. His slouch was noncommittal, and it didn't even feel like a lie when he said it. "I heard about what happened. I wanted to know why. You know, _who_. See if there was anything I could do."   
  
"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Chutney's face creased into a sudden grin, and he laughed a little, but Brendan still couldn't quite shake the recollection of Tug. "You say you're his friend, I believe you. But you're barkin' up the wrong tree if you think I know who did it or why."  
  
"You'd tell me if you knew. That's what you're saying?"  
  
Chutney crossed his arms again. The smile was gone. "If I thought you'd take care of it."  
  
Brendan smiled coolly. "I'd take care of it." Or the bulls would. Brendan doesn't have much use for the bulls other than to do his dirty work, and taking care of Jerr's murderer would be dirty work indeed. He leaned forward across the table, closer to the glass. "I used to deal with Jerr. I don't imagine he stopped dealing on the inside."  
  
"He didn't."  
  
"And you're trying to tell me that couldn't have been why? That he wasn't stepping on anyone's toes?"  
  
Chutney pushed his face closer to the glass. "Juvie isn't like the outside. The hacks have the power and they know how to use it. A dealer gets too big, he gets shipped out. Up to Trabuco, or Riverside."  
  
Brendan pinched the bridge of his nose. "So unless you're a complete fuck-up, you play by the rules."  
  
Chutney nodded and sat back. "And rules are no gangs, no fightin' over turf or customers. Free fuckin' trade. Don't stand out by sellin' more than the guy next to you, and you'll be fine. The hacks would rather have us doped up than killin' each other, and this is how they do it.  
  
"That's the lay?"  
  
"That's the lay."  
  
"And Jerr wasn't standing out?"  
  
"He wasn't stupid."  
  
"Right." Brendan knew that. He could have put up with a lot of things in a partner, but stupidity wasn't one of them. "Fuck."  
  
Chutney got to his feet and took a step back towards the door. "I got nothin' to tell you. I wish I did. I wouldn't mind seein' a little sense to it myself."  
  
Brendan wanted to get angry. He thought about fucking with Chutney's head so hard and so fast the guy wouldn't know why he was lying. The problem was that Brendan didn't think he was lying.  
  
Shit. He needed to talk to Brain.  
  


  
  
 **IV.  
And, truth to tell,   
She lights up well,   
So I, for one, don't blame her!**   
~   
Brendan flopped down beside Brain and leaned up against the concrete.  
  
"His cellmate was a wash. Apparently Jerr was a model of good behavior. Minus the dealing, of course."  
  
"Were you really expecting anything different?"  
  
Brendan rubbed his eyes. "I don't know. Jerr was a hothead, sometimes. And it would have made things easier if he'd pissed someone off." Brendan always went looking for the easy answer, even if he never seemed to be able to find one. "Know anything about the cell mate? Chook Chutney."  
  
"Chutney, Chutney," Brain's forehead wrinkled for a moment before clearing. "Chutney. Good kid, mostly. His brother ran the chop shop on Mayfield, but he used to come to school regular. Pretty sure he was busted for boosting cars."  
  
"Explains juvie."  
  
"He got lucky. If I remember right, the brother took a slug to the face earlier this year."  
  
Brendan let his head fall back. Useless. "Kara's not giving anything up either."  
  
Brain snorted. "That's a surprise."  
  
"I think she knows something."  
  
"She probably does, but I think we can safely assume she won't give it to you straight. Everybody knows your stats."  
  
"Everybody knows jack shit," Brendan said harshly, jumping to his feet. Brain looked up in surprise. "I'm gonna go talk to her."  
  
"Brendan!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Look." Brain softened his gaze. "I'm _worried_ about you. First Em and the Pin and now this? You get half-crazy, barging around with no idea what the hell you're doing. And everybody smacks you down, smacks you around. People just like Kara. But you keep hitting between tackle and the end when..." Brain stuttered. "when I don't think you even know which side you're on!"  
  
Brendan took a step back, all the fight washing out of him. "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know what side anyone's on. Christ. I don't even know who's playing today."  
  
"Thick," Brain said, and he shook his head, but there was a faint smile on his face. "Can you see why I'm worried? You want me to op for you, to keep my eyes and ears out. How can I do that when they're half on you?"  
  
Brendan was quiet for a moment. "You want out?"  
  
"Did I say I wanted out?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Alright." Brain looked down at his worn sneakers. "Do you think she's on the straight? Kara?"  
  
"Doubt it. She doesn't play that way. It's a game to people like her."  
  
"It's a game to people like us."  
  
"At least we know the stakes." Brendan shot back, harsh. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a few deep breathes. "Got anything else for me?"  
  
Brain shook his head. "Jerr's crew is same old, same old. News hasn't hit the street yet, and Kara went from school to rehearsal, no stops."  
  
"Thanks, Brain."  
  
"What I'm here for."  
  
~  
  
Brendan wandered onto a dress rehearsal in full-swing. He got dirty looks just for opening the door. If they were from anyone besides Kara's boytoys, he'd be more intimidated.  
  
The backdrop for the stage was some demented looking castle, as doom and gloom and gothic as the art students could make it. Kara was in a red dress with a square neckline, her hair flying everywhere, her hands like claws. She was doing some kind of death scene, dying slowly, by inches, in the way only the most tragic of characters can, drawing out her last breath for a five minute soliloquy. Brendan forgot, sometimes, that was actually a good actress, because he was usually occupied with how big a pain in the ass she was being.   
  
By the time she stumbled off-stage, Brendan was lightheaded from holding his breath. He headed to the dressing room as quickly as he could, beat her there by maybe ten seconds before she burst past the door in a flurry of red fabric, perfume, and stage paint.  
  
You could always count on Kara to make an entrance.  
  
"You should be careful about coming around so much," she said airily, flouncing over to her chair. "People might start to think you're fond of me."  
  
Brendan made a noise somewhere between a cough and a laugh. "Get rid of the lapdog."  
  
The boy who had followed her in narrowed his eyes. "Hey buddy -"  
  
"Alex, sweetie," Kara interjected. "Go get my script, would you? The last act has been giving me fits."  
  
"The new script?"  
  
"Yes, the new one."  
  
The boy scurried out, slamming the door as he went.  
  
Brendan leaned up against the tabletop. "I have to say, Kara, for being so damned clever you certainly surround yourself with a lot of dopes."  
  
"He's cute."  
  
"Maybe. But he's a lapdog."  
  
"I wish you wouldn't call him that. It hurts his _feelings_."  
  
"You might as well carry him around in your purse."  
  
"Don't be dramatic," she said sweetly, and Brendan grinned. "What do you want? It's opening night tonight, and I need every second of sleep I can snatch between then and now."  
  
"I've been wondering if anything existed in your world besides you and your needs?"  
  
"I happen to think that self-absorption is completely justified if you can't find anyone else worthy of your attention."  
  
Brendan remembered when he thought the only thing worthy of his attention was Kara. She used to love it. Used to thrive on it, even, on Brendan watching and weighing and cataloguing her every move. She was never without an adoring and attentive audience. Isn't that what she always wanted? That drive - that _obsession_ \- is what made him a good shamus. It's what drove Emily away. Hell, it's probably what attracted Laura to him, what got the Pin to trust him.   
  
Everything has its price.  
  
Brendan bared his teeth at Kara's reflection. "I won't waste your time. I just wanted to check in. See if you'd heard anything about Jerr."  
  
"It's _opening night_ , Brendan. I've got bigger things to worry about than a pusher who was too stupid to sell out his partner and save his own skin."  
  
He felt old all of a sudden. Tired. "Some people would call that loyalty."  
  
"I didn't know they'd called it."  
  
There's a flash of something in her eyes, too quick for Brendan to catch. The look on her face, though. Brendan knew it. He knew she wasn't lying, and that - that more than _anything_ \- spelled trouble. For Kara, there was no greater act of desperation than falling back on the truth. When she didn't know what lie sounded the prettiest, she told the truth. Even the truth couldn't be taken at face value with Kara.  
  
"Break a leg," Brendan muttered, and headed back to the courtyard.  
  
~  
  
"So what are you going to do now?"  
  
Brendan sucked on his lower lip for a second. He might have tasted blood. "Nothing to it. I'm going to have to go to the bulls, ask a favor."  
  
"Are you crazy?" Brain's eyes were impossibly huge behind his glasses. "Do you know the shit you could catch just for walking into the pen? If a yegg saw you?"  
  
Brendan shrugged. Of course he knows. "Worst case scenario, I'm out in a few months. Should use up my favors when I've got the chance."  
  
Brain shifted uneasily, fingers running over the Rubik's cube in his pocket. "Shouldn't I be telling you to go with God, or something?"  
  
"Guys like me couldn't find a prayer in a Bible. I need luck, not religion."  
  
"Luck then."  
  
Brendan nodded. "Luck I'll take."  
  
~  
  
Precinct 46. The hometown boys in blue - half he'd grown up with; the other half'd love to pin something on him. Do to him what he'd done to Jerr.  
  
Christ. No wonder he hates this place.  
  
He took the stairs to the second floor and ducked into the second office on the left.  
  
"Billy."   
  
"Brendan," Billy's grin was quick and surprised, but genuine. A friendly face here, at least. "Hey. Haven't seen you around here lately."  
  
"Yeah, well, I'm not the most popular guy." Billy was only a few years older than Brendan. Grew up just down the street. And there was the one time with the kid in the place with the thing, which wasn't totally Billy's fault, but Billy still owed him. Owed him big. Brendan still might be overstepping his bounds here, but he has to try.  
  
"I need to ask a favor." 

  
  
**V.  
Ah, pray make no mistake,   
We are not shy; **   
~   
"He was a hemophiliac."  
  
Brendan said it so quietly that Brain had to struggle to hear. His brow furrowed over the tops of his frames. "Who?"  
  
"Jerr. Jerr had hemophilia. Hemo-fucking-philia. He wasn't beaten to death. Not... like that. Not really." Brendan rubbed his eyes. "Some junkies wanted some stuff he didn't have to sell, decided to rough him up. He bled out through a goddamn cut in his lip."  
  
"So he wasn't murdered."   
  
"That part's debatable." Couple of junkies floating too high or getting the agonies could've beaten anyone to death.  
  
"Catch the yeggs who did it?"  
  
"They've got two in custody. Off some prints, or something. Billy said it was on the up-and-up." Brendan wasn't worried there.  
  
Brain looked up at him through his glasses, not nearly as smug as he could be. "So Kara was innocent after all?"   
  
Brendan snorted. "Kara's not innocent. Not by a long shot. But she wasn't involved with Jerr's death, if that's what you mean."  
  
"Maybe that's what I mean." Brain threw his backpack over his shoulder. "I've got a bus to catch."  
  
"Maybe," Brendan echoed softly. "Maybe."  
  
~  
  
There was a riot of people in the theater. Fighting for seats, buying tickets, trying desperately to pull the scenery together. Brendan pushed his way to the dressing rooms. They all knew better than to stop him by now.  
  
"No lapdogs?"  
  
"Never before a show - too distracting, Always yapping at my ankles." Kara turned around to face him. "Besides. I had a sneaking suspicion you'd be showing up, and you always make me send them away."  
  
"Kicker of puppies, that's me." Brendan leaned carefully against the back wall. "So what's this shindig all about? What play?"  
  
"The Scottish play."  
  
"Tough break. Lady of the Manor, I assume?"  
  
" _Art thou afeard to be the same in thine own act and valour as thou art in desire_?"  
  
"I'll take that as a yes." The perfect part for her. Murderous, manipulative. Beautiful and strong. Heading for a tragic ending. Brendan has always held a certain belief in life imitating art, and not the other way around.   
  
"Here for the show, Brendan?" Kara stepped closer to him. He avoided her eyes and watched her in the mirror. Watched how she slunk towards him. Watched the curve of her hips, the slide from one step to another. And he knew he was damned if he did and damned if he didn't. He wasn't a saint, or a martyr. He was only a man, and he doesn't know one who'd want to be damned for no reason at all.  
  
Like he told Brain. Worst case scenario, he's out of here in a few months.  
  
"I might be persuaded to stay," he said finally. When Kara smiled her teeth were edged, her cheekbones could cut glass, and underneath the cloying smell of paint and perfume he smelled _her_ \- sharp, metallic, and warm. As familiar as the blood in his veins, and maybe just as necessary.   
  
She pressed her whole body into him. Her hair was longer, and her mouth fuller, maybe, but they still fit together with the small of her back curved to Brendan's hand, her face tilted upwards to catch the overhead lights. There was still something between them - the same passion, the same fire - whatever you wanted to call it. Because it's always been like this between them, obvious and overblown and there for anyone to see if they had half a mind to look.  
  
Someone called five minutes until curtain. Kara untangled herself easily, and strode back to the mirror to retouch her make-up. Brendan watched the entire performance from behind the backstage curtain, stepping nimbly in and out of the stage crew's way. She was beautiful and fantastic and the applause made her eyes glint like diamonds.  
  
When it was over the crush of people pulled them towards the entrance. Kara's hands tangled in his jacket.  
  
"Coming?"  
  
Brendan shook his head. "I'll pick a ride home."  
  
Kara pouted, but there was nothing behind it beside appearances. She headed to the wrap party with clique in tow, but not before laying one on him that makes his toes curl, right in front of everyone.  
  
He slept restlessly, if at all. 

  
  
**VI.  
We're very wide awake,   
The moon and I!**   
~   
Friday morning Brendan strolled in late, just before third period. Brain stopped him in the courtyard.  
  
"Word is you and Kara are a couple again."  
  
It's not really a question.  
  
Brain raised an eyebrow. "You think that's a good idea?"  
  
No. Yes. "I don't know."  
  
He snorted. "At least you're honest."  
  
Brendan liked to think he was usually that.  
  
"Just tell me you're not expecting a happy ending."  
  
"I don't expect anything," Brendan said wearily. "I'm tired of plotting out angles, Brain. At least I know all of Kara's."  
  
Brain did nothing more than blink behind his glasses.  
  
"Where's Kara been eating lunch?"  
  
"The elms outside the theatre."  
  
Brendan nodded. "See you around."  
  
"Brendan."  
  
There was a moment where neither of them blinked.  
  
"Good luck," Brain said simply. "You're going to need it either way."  
  
Brendan tucked his chin against his chest. "Thanks."  
  
"Yeah." Brain was all ready engrossed in his Rubik's cube again.  
  
Brendan left him alone, and walked towards campus.   
  


 


End file.
